Tips for Tits

There's nothing I love more than eating out. Except when this happens:

A little while back my uncle from California came to Connecticut for a visit. It's always fun when he comes because we drink too many martinis and go out to eat at really great restaurants. Oh, and he loves to pick up the tab. (What's better than dirty martinis? FREE dirty martinis!)

I chose the restaurant – Bespoke, in New Haven. We'd been there before, for Mr. KK's birthday, and it was truly fabulous. The chef is ridiculously talented in combining flavors and ingredients and textures to create amazing dishes. It's not on the cheap side by any means, so we've only been there a few times. But, hey! This was a special occasion! (And, we weren't paying!)

Once we were seated we had to wait 30 minutes before someone came over to take our drink order. There was a table of young scantily-clad girls at a bachelorette party behind us who were receiving quite a bit of attention from our waiter.

Once he took their drink orders, delivered their drinks, took their appetizer order and ogled their swelling twenty-something breasts, he finally came over to our table. Even before he opened his mouth, I sized him up to be a dick.

WAITER: "What can I get you to drink?"
UNCLE: "Another waitress came by and took our drink order. You were too busy with that table of girls."

NOTE: My uncle is not afraid to speak his mind. Me, of all people, wanted to crawl under the table by the time the meal was finished. And I'm not shy.

WAITER: "Well, then. Do you want to order dinner?"
KK: "Do you have any specials?"

Of course they had specials. I already heard him rattle them off to the bachelorettes. But I wanted him to go through them for US.

Dickface sighs impatiently (Oh, I'm sorry, are we keeping your from something? Oh no, wait, it's your JOB to talk to us!) and goes through the specials with less enthusiasm than someone prepping for a colonoscopy. We order a few appetizers for the table, including 2 orders of their delicious (and outrageously priced) ceviche, and an order of the black bean and lobster ravioli.

Before we can open our mouths to order dinner, Dickhead tells us he'll be right back and goes to help the servers deliver the young girls' appetizers. I contemplate taking off my shirt, in hopes that the service improves. But he doesn't deserve the thrill.

But I'm so mad, I can't even see straight. I despise picking restaurants for a group of people, only to go and have a terrible experience. This guy was making me look bad. And I wasn't going to let that happen.

Now, I've never been a waitress, but if I had to choose between a table of young girls (granted, they were pretty, but who, it turns out, only ordered one drink each and shared some appetizers) and a table of 6 adults, who are drinkers and order at least 2 courses each, I'd probably go with the adults, who not only would have a higher bill, but would be bigger tippers. Bigger tippers until they had shitty service, that is.

He returns to take our order.

KK: "Oh, you've finally come back."

Now, we've been at the restaurant for over and hour already. Our drinks have been empty and we are starving. We order dinner and then a second round of drinks.

And then we wait.

The restaurant barely had people in it – it was already 10:30 at night!

Dinner comes, but still no drinks. Dickwad catches my eye and I give him the "where the f*ck are our drinks?" look and he runs down to the bar. He returns with everyone's drinks except my dad's glass of wine.

WAITER: "What did you order again?" he asks in a snotty tone.
DAD: "Glass of cabernet."
UNCLE: "Boy, service sucks but the food is delicious."
WAITER: "No kidding the food is great." Asshole!

My dad's wine arrives after we've all finished dinner. I mean, really?

Four of us order desserts. I take turns between mentally calculating the bill and castrating our waiter.

When the bill does arrive, my uncle and dad do a funny sort of tug of war with it. Mr. KK looks uncomfortable. I count ceiling tiles.

My father shook his head in disbelief.

DAD: "Do you believe he had the nerve to add 20% gratuity to the bill for his shitty service?"
UNCLE: "Only way he would've gotten it."

It just infuriates me that we had to give him money for bad service! No wonder he was so smug. On the way out the manager asked how our dinner was. My dad told it to him straight: the meal was delicious (which it was!), but the service was awful.

The manager bought us all drinks at the bar (I was afraid he'd spit in them...), and definitely talked to the waiter, who came up to us later to apologize for his bad service. Talk about awkward. I mean, what do you say? 'Yeah, you pretty much sucked' or 'Next time, think with your head, not with your wiener'.